


Black Sharpie, Blue Eyes

by peculiarblue



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Soulmates, happy 1 year anniversary westallen i had to write something about you, i will take that fact to my grave, the amount of flirting is unreal, the greatest couple of all time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 19:40:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16793476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peculiarblue/pseuds/peculiarblue
Summary: there were a few things Barry Allen knew for certain, one being that someone needed to introduce his soulmate to a piece of paper(soulmates AU where whatever your write on your skin shows up on your soulmate's skin, and Barry Allen is already in love with the girl who writes down all the coffee orders she takes on her hand, and he'll visit every coffee shop in the city to find her)





	Black Sharpie, Blue Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Okay hi a few things/disclaimers/apologies:
> 
> 1\. Barry's like, not the Flash in this, but i thought HR would be a funny addition so just forget he's from another earth for this
> 
> 2\. also, since he's not the flash, i just decided to have "team flash" work at CCPD with Barry, i have no idea how police jobs work, i literally made up the whole science team thing, so again, just pretend
> 
> 3\. I do not drink coffee, so ignore anything i say about coffee in here that doesn't make sense (like, creamer? sugar? a latte? I don't know what i'm talking about, it's all just coffee to me)
> 
> I can't believe it has taken me this long to write something for The Greatest Couple Of All Time but now that i'm here i feel like i probably wont leave any time soon love u westallen
> 
> found the "writing shows up on your soulmate thing" on tumblr so if you came up with it great job it's brilliant and thank you
> 
> and that should be enough of my ranting for now, enjoy :)

* * *

“Hi there, what can I get for you?”

Deep breath.

“Uh, hi, yeah, can I please have a… uh,” he gently places his hand on the counter, flits his eyes down quick to look at the sloppy black letters on the back of his left hand, “coffee.”

“Just a coffee?”

“Yeah.”

“Would you like—”

“Uh, with 2 sugars. And milk. Yeah, milk.” He chuckles nervously, meeting her eyes apologetically and running his now useless left hand through his messy hair.

“What size?” She looks annoyed. Bothered? Annoyed. Definitely annoyed.

He hums as he looks at the little _m_ on his hand, and panics. _M_ for milk, right? Or was it for medium. Do they have mediums here? Are they like Starbucks and use a different system entirely? Or was the _s_ for sugar actually…

“I’ll get you a small,” she quips, pulls a cup from the stack beside her, tosses her long red hair over her shoulder. He laughs again, hands her a five-dollar bill and throws all the change in the tip jar for her trouble.

“Thanks for coming to Jamie’s Coffee Shop. Enjoy your coffee,” She hands him a steaming hot cup with what he hopes is at least a hint of a smile.

“Thank you...” He draws out as he reaches out for the cup, eyes peering around to see the top of her left hand.

Nothing. Completely clean. Not a mark.

“…so much. Smells great. Thanks.” He lifts the cup to his nose, smiles and shoots her a thumbs up as he stumbles backwards towards the door. Once he’s pushing the door open and feels the cold winter wind on face, he finally lets his smile drop, tosses the small cup in the trash can outside the door.

Would now be a good time to mention he’s more of a tea person?

* * *

There were a few things Barry Allen knew for certain: If he was ever on time for something that was sure to mean the apocalypse was coming, cookie dough ice cream would always be the superior flavor, and someone needed to introduce his soulmate to a piece of paper.

Every day, he’d find more and more notes scribbled on the top of his left hand, up the back of his wrist, sometimes on his kneecap during the summer. Was she forgetful? Eco-friendly?

He knew she worked at a coffee shop. During the busiest hours of the day he’d catch her scribbling orders down on her hand, sloppy notes like _2 iced_ and _sugar with cream_ , or _add shot_ (which Caitlin had to explain to him meant _of espresso_ , not that she was working at some wild spiked coffee-bar). He started to learn her short-hand too, as the tiny letters piled up on his own hand.

Cisco told him his coffee hands looked kind of badass.

But Barry thought the coolest part was when, at 10 pm, he’d catch a _sorry, busy day!_ under all the scribbles. You couldn’t wipe the smile off his face if you tried.

“Dude, earth to Barry!” Cisco’s voice startled Barry, sitting up in his chair and spinning to face the rest of the room.

“Yeah, you’re right,” He says airily, feeling the three sets of eyes from his team on him.

“What?”

“What?” Barry echoed.

“I asked if you finished that report Singh asked for,” Cisco chuckles, standing up and patting Barry on the shoulder as he starts to cross back to his own desk, “but looks like someone was too busy in another one of his little lovesick daydreams.”

“Alright, I’m not lovesick, I’ve never even met her!” Barry throws his hands up defensively before looking through the stacks of paper on his desk for said report.

“You’d think, with four intelligent people on a forensic science team, we’d actually get work done in here,” Caitlin shakes her head.

“I get my work done!” Barry laughs, tossing a file onto Cisco’s desk.

“I think your recent Google searches for coffee shops in Central City beg to differ…” HR sing-songs as he bounces back in his chair, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Oh, not you too, c’mon, I thought I had at least one person on my side here!” Barry yells with an exasperated look.

“You know I’m always on your side, BA,” HR claps his hands together, “Though secretly I hope you never do find her, so we never stop having you bring us free coffee.”

“Maybe you should try just asking her where she works? You can’t just keep running around, I mean, for all we know she’s across the country!” Caitlin adds with a tilt of her head.

“I feel like that’s breaking the rules. And I don’t wanna seem weird, or creepy either.”

“Oh yeah, because stumbling over some scribbled coffee order like you suddenly have a hairball caught in your throat will really woo her,” and Barry fights the urge to punch Cisco as he laughs at his own comment.

“No listen, I just have to go to every coffee shop in Central City, order what she’s writing down on her wrist so she looks and sees I have it written too, and methodically, I will narrow it down to at least a dozen people it could be, and then…”

“You are such a scientist sometimes.” Caitlin laughs.

“Sorry, we can’t all have such perfect soulmates,” Barry jokes, and Caitlin blushes, looking down at something written on her hand.

She holds up her right hand and waves it at the team showing a little note that says _say hi to the team for me_ , “Ronnie says, hi, to you guys, by the way.”

“Hey, you know what, it’s been a long day, and look at the time, so much more to go,” HR drums on the desk, and stifles a dramatic yawn, “I know I could use a caffeine boost, maybe—”

Without another word, Barry jumps up from his desk, grabs his coat and strides towards the door, “You know, there was this one place down on Cooper Street I’ve been dying to try…” He waves as he steps out the door, a little bounce in his step. Who needs caffeine when you have a soulmate?

* * *

It’s another week of lots of coffee he doesn’t drink and walks of shame back to their CCPD lab, and Barry definitely thinks this soulmate thing should come with some sort of divine-intervention paycheck. Like, the money he’s dropping on hot beverages to find this girl truly has surpassed an acceptable level.

He doesn’t really remember when he figured it out, how to find her, actually. A few years ago, maybe, when the coffee order scribbles started.

You learn when you’re little how soulmates work, and at first, it seems like all you wanna do is grab a huge box of Crayola washable markers and write all over your hands, up your arms, even that one lapse in good judgement where you write on your belly button (Barry laughs just thinking about the heart that showed up on his stomach one day, which he assumes has to be the result of a weekend after prom, or at least he hopes). He got in trouble once or twice in school, trying to have conversations with her through the writing that shows up on his skin. She always answers.

But when you grow up, everyone kinda stops doing it. Not because you can’t or because it’s wrong, maybe just because the longer you go without a soulmate, the less excited you get about thinking you’ll find them. Loses some of that childlike wonder, he guesses. So everyone thinks about it less, worries about bills and taxes and job applications and doctors appointments and instead of writing _good morning_ on their palm they write the time they have to work their next shift. The idea of it was sad, but it never bothered Barry, he knew it was coming. Most people find their soulmate eventually and all is good.

But he’ll never forget walking into his first college lecture, freshman year, the kind of unofficial cut-off point for silly soulmate things, where adulting starts, and seeing _I’m trying really hard to focus but my professors fly has been down the whole class and please tell me your college experience is going a little better_ written up the back of his left arm.

They talk in little notes until they run out of room and have to pull their sleeves down.

He’s really glad they both decided to never really grow out of it.

It’s a late Friday night that he’s closing up the lab after running some tests after his latest week of no luck finding her that he notices his hand has stayed empty all day, so he scribbles a little _slow day?_ on the back of his wrist.

It’s pushing 10 as he slings his coat over his shoulders and notices the _Friday nights are for vodka, not coffee, I guess_ appear under his message.

_anyone who would pass up your coffee, no matter when, is ridiculous_

_you’re ridiculous, you’ve never even had my coffee_

_I’m working on it_

He steps out of the building, hitting the brisk winter air and walks a block or two down to one of his favorite coffee bakery places, Jitters. He’s been going there since he was like, 12, so he’s ruled it out of places she could work. I mean, he’d know, right? He’s tested it once or twice before, just on a whim, but their iced tea and brownies are way too good for him to waste time ordering coffee for this girl. And after the week he’s had, he doesn’t need another disappointing hazelnut coffee with almond milk and no writing on the wrist of the girl who hands it to him.

The door jingles as he opens it and he’s greeted by a pleasant aroma and the light lull of music, the place about to close and empty aside from a few people at a table in the back and two employees, one waiting behind the counter and another wiping down tables.

He lets out a hot breath, cheeks red after walking inside from the cold, and head ducked as he starts fishing around his bag for his wallet, walking up to the counter, not really looking where he’s going, when he runs right into a full head of hair.

They both stumble back a little, he hears her gasp a little and he wastes no time before immediately stumbling over a million words, “Oh my god, I am so so sorry, wow, are you okay? I’m so sorry I wasn’t looking and—”

She shakes her head with a laugh, her smile that he catches as she looks up at him literally sparkling (he says a “screw you” to science when he sees that twinkle light up what feels like the whole room in just a second).

“I, uh,” he suddenly seems to lack the plethora of words he just had, “Sorry. My fault.”

“Don’t worry about it,” She picks up the white towel she dropped and brushes some imaginary dust down her long black sleeves, “That was probably the most graceful running into ever,” she shrugs.

“Thanks, I guess?”

She laughs again, and there’s that twinkle.

He’s seen her before, he thinks, but the memory is hazy. How he could ever forget those eyes before, he’ll never understand, because he certainly won’t stop thinking about them now. She’s been behind the counter a few times he’s been here, maybe even taken his order, once or twice? But he’s always in a rush here, never had time to notice the way her long hair flips over her shoulder, the adorable shrug of her shoulders, the way she manages to make even the wrinkles around her eyes as she smiles at him seem like the prettiest thing in the world.

He doesn’t know how long he’s looking at her, really looking at her, and he definitely doesn’t know how he manages this awful yawn that comes right after.

“Long day?” She laughs.

“You have no idea,” he reaches up and scratches behind his neck, “Well, I mean, obviously you have some sort of idea, because you’re here, after 10, so like you must be tired too—”

“I literally work inside a caffeine heaven. I’m doing okay. You on the other hand look…”

“Like I just really embarrassingly ran into a pretty girl on a Friday night,” he chuckles, eyes down at the ground, then tilting his head up when he realizes what he just said, “I mean—”

“Definitely much worse ways to look.” Does she know how to look at him any other way that doesn’t involve that smile? Does she realize he literally cannot hold it together when she— “We should probably get some coffee into you, though. I make a mean late-night pick-me-up,” her voice making Barry shake his head out of another daydream as she starts to walk behind the counter.

“Oh, I don’t—”

“No way. No one turns down my coffee!” She giggles as she grabs a cup and scribbles something on the side with a black sharpie.

Barry shrugs as he follows. He would protest, but she’s doing the sparkle thing again and he’s losing the ability to form words quicker and quicker by the minute.

“Should I even ask what I’m about to drink?”

“Pure magic, that’s what it is. If you’re not back here tomorrow night for another, I think I’ve failed as a barista,” she turns around and starts filling the cup, her hair doing a little bounce as she moves.

Barry bounces on his toes, she’s not even facing him anymore and he’s still like Jell-O.

“Voila!” She places the cup in front of him with a flourish of her hand above the lid, “Put all those years of high school French class to use, huh?”

“Well, uh, gracias,” Barry takes the cup with a smile and a shrug, “high school Spanish.”

And Barry swears she looks at him like she’s turning into Jell-O too. But he’s probably imagining it. Is he? God, has he really never noticed her here before?

He reaches into his pocket to pull out some cash and she reaches across the counter, her hand touching his forearm, “Oh, no, don’t worry about it. This one’s on me.”

“No way, I can’t just run into you here at closing _and_ make you pay for my drink.”

“Who said chivalry was dead, right?”

“And what could have possibly inspired your brave acts of chivalry tonight? Certainly, was not my clumsiness.”

She laughs and leans her left hand on the counter, pulling down her sleeve a little with her right, “I just had a really good day, pay it forward, right?”

Barry shakes his head, “Well, I’m paying for the next one.”

“There’s gonna be a next one?”

Barry feels his cheeks go red again, this time not from the cold air. He looks down at the cup in his hand, and quirks a smile up when he sees “Sleepyhead :)” written in black Sharpie. She gives him a knowing smirk.

“You have a good night, sleepy.”

“Good night…” He starts to walk backwards, towards the door, still holding onto her smile.

“Iris,” she says, barely above a whisper.

“Iris,” he echoes, committing it to memory, “Good night, Iris.”

He turns to walk out the door, and considers never saying a bad word about coffee ever again.

* * *

Barry taps his pen on his desk faster. The clock moves slower.

“Barry, what the hell dude, we haven’t gotten coffee in like, 2 weeks?”

“Really? That long?” He barely pays attention as he says it, eyes still trained on the clock above the door, eyebrows scrunched together and pen still tapping.

“I have never gone this long with a full blow analysis of at least three new coffee shops,” Cisco says, a smirk in his eyes, “What you been up to, lover boy?”

“Nothing, nothing. Lover who? I’m not, no, pshh,” Barry sits up and shakes his head, “Just, taking a caffeine break, I guess.”

“Oh my god you found her!” Caitlin squeals.

“Please, Cait, if he had found her don’t you think we’d literally find him bouncing off walls, and like, singing or something?”

“I don’t sing,” Barry adds, quickly, giving Cisco a look that gets challenged with a smirk that says ‘oh dude our drunken karaoke night begs to differ’. “And I didn’t find her. Yet. Working on it. You will be the first to know.”

Has he found her? No, I mean, he wouldn’t really know because, he honestly hasn’t been looking. It is so hard to look at anything other than Iris’ eyes, or her smile, or her walk to get more sugar, or… Iris. Hard to look at anything other than her when you’re at Jitters, and, well, he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t been a Jitters a lot lately.

Clock. Moving. So. Slowly.

_Lg latte + decaf 2 cream_

Barry smiles. And as much as he wants to think about his coffee girl, his mind somehow seems to pull him back to…

The first time he went back to Jitters after meeting her was the next Monday. He did not have the guts to go back the next day. He almost did but like, did his breath smell? Did the wind make his hair look funny? What would he even say?

Probably order something, but what? He tried one sip of her coffee and he just, he wanted to like it so bad, but, nope. Couldn’t do it. And would he be able to lie to those eyes? A solid hell no to that.

He goes in Monday morning before work at about ten to 9, and is prepared to just give the coffee he’s going to have to order to HR when he gets to the lab.

But then he gets there and realizes, hell, she might not even be here. He walks in, doesn’t run into anyone as he walks into line, so good signs all round, and peers over heads as he waits, looking for a certain someone with irresistible eyelashes and a strong taste in coffee. No luck. He waits on line anyway, still tilting his head and letting his eyes drift around the place, looking. He orders something for HR and steps to the side to wait for it after paying.

Barry mumbles a quick “thank you” when he takes the cup, and barely even notices the words scribbled on the side in familiar black sharpie before turning to leave.

“9 am Mon + Tues, night shift the rest of the week. Saw you looking :)” And when he looks up, there’s that twinkle, standing behind the counter, filling another cup. She turns around briefly and meets his eyes with a smirk.

“The smiley face again, really?” Barry calls as he starts to walk towards the door.

“What can I say, can’t help it around you!” She shrugs.

HR doesn’t get any coffee that day.

So you know he _has_ to go back the next day, goofy grin and all, at exactly 9 am.

“Two days in a row, huh? Don’t you have a job to get to?” She grabs a cup to start making his drink without even asking what he wants (looks like he’s actually stuck with coffee forever now), peering up at him from behind those long lashes.

“Oh, you didn’t know? I’m like an expert at the art of being late, never been on time to anything.”

“You sound proud of that,” She scribbles something on the side of the cup in her hand, and he shrugs before she adds, “But I think you’re wrong, because, I said I’d be here at 9 and I saw you walk in at 9 on the dot.”

“Well, you’re worth being on time for,” she stops moving for a second and just looks at him, probably doesn’t even notice she does it, but Barry definitely does and don’t think he’ll forget it, “and _that_ I am proud of.”

She places the cup on the counter behind her as he holds out cash to pay, “You must say that to all the girls.”

“What other girls?” He winks as he drops his change in the tip jar and moves to the side to wait for his drink. She shakes her head in disbelief and he looks at her, waiting for his cup.

“What, you trying to make me even more late?”

“Nah, I just wanna look at you longer,” She shoots him a devilish smirk, “and I figure, Mr. Late Guy, I can afford to steal a few more minutes by making you wait.”

“I don’t think I like that name, by the way,” He watches her as he waits, taking a few more orders, mesmerized by the simple way she works, god, is everything she does so beautiful? Without even trying?

He hears his phone ring in his pocket and hates turning away to answer it.

“Allen?”

“Hi, Mr. Singh, sir. What can I do for you?”

“We need you at a scene on 14th street, checked your office, didn’t see you there, yet again.”

“Sorry, about that, I was on my way—”

“Be here in 10, Allen.”

“Yes, yes, of course, be there—” He hung up on him. He clicks off his phone and shoves it in his back pocket in annoyance. He happens to notice there’s something written on the top of his left hand, a few orders already. He fishes for a pen in his work bag to answer:

_I hope your work day has been better than mine and I’m not even at work yet_

_Only been here 5 minutes and already a good day_

_Knew your coffee was magic_

Barry looks up at iris putting a lid on his cup, giggling to herself.

“Oh what, is making me late this funny?” He says as she strides over, tucking her left hand behind her back and placing his coffee down with her right.

She looks up at him, “Well, I don’t know about you, but it was definitely worth it. Something tells me I’m going to have a pretty good day now.”

His cup has _Mr. Pretty Blue Eyes, better?_ sloppily written on the side.

When he visits Jitters for the third time that week, it’s a Friday night again and they’re about to close. He didn’t realize how late it had gotten, and feels horrible when he thinks about it and tries to turn around before walking inside, one hand already on the door handle, as to not keep her and her coworker there any longer.

But the whole front of the place is a giant glass window so it’s impossible not to spot his long lanky body from inside and he sees her wave and how could he not go inside now?

“Did you forget how to open doors? Damn, must have been a really long day,” She looks up at him as she wipes off a table to his left.

“I just realized you guys are closing in like, one minute.”

“Mr. Late Guy. Did I expect any less?”

“I thought we got rid of that name,” He counters with a smirk that lifts the corners of his mouth ever so slightly. She throws her towel at him with a blushing smile.

“Well, late or not, I’ll always have time for you, Blue Eyes.”

She reaches across the counter, still standing across from Barry, and slides a cup towards them. She holds it up to him.

“For me?”

“I don’t see anyone else here.”

“How’d you even know I was coming?” He takes the cup in his hands, a warm feeling reaching him that has nothing to do with the temperature of the coffee inside and everything to do with the little electric feeling of accidentally touching her hand as he takes the cup from her.

“I have my ways,” She tilts her head and her hair falls behind her shoulder, “Actually, don’t tell anyone but, there’s this guy who’s been coming here a lot lately and I’ve been so excited for him to come back that I secretly make him a coffee every night in hopes he’ll show.”

She giggles. He feels like his heart could explode at any moment.

“Well, you’re at least gonna let me pay for this, right?”

She bites her bottom lip. He feels like melting into a puddle on the floor.

“Or,” She points at him, “You could wait at this table over here and keep me company while I finish cleaning up.”

It’s another one of those moments where he has forgotten how to speak actual English words so he nods and slowly backs up towards a table, sliding into the chair and hoping she turns away long enough for him to dump his coffee into a nearby plant, or something.

“Can I just say, I feel terrible you’ve been making these for me all week and I haven’t been here.”

She shrugs a hand at him, “Like I didn’t drink them all myself anyway.”

“Well, now that I know you’re waiting for me I hope you know I don’t think I can ever go a day without coming here ever again.”

“Doesn’t sound like a problem to me,” she calls over her shoulder as she busies herself with something behind the counter, a lilt in her voice that drives Barry nuts.

“So, how long have you been wooing boys here with your magic caffeinated beverages?” He swirls the liquid around in his cup.

She turns around sharply, “Who says I’ve wooed any boys other than you?” Barry tucks his chin down, hoping to hide the embarrassing grin that takes over his whole face. She continues, “But, uh, a few years I’d say. And my ‘caffeinated beverages’,” she gives him a pointed look when she says that, “have not always been this good. I am actually a nightmare in a kitchen.”

“So, I guess you’re not the one behind those addictive brownies?”

“Ugh, I _wish_. My obsession is borderline unhealthy.”

“Not that you’d ever be able to tell,” Barry says looking over at her literally flawless body, but then almost chokes on his own breath, realizing his words, “I mean, not that I meant anything by that or anything, just like, you look good, and I mean, all body shapes are perfect and not that I wouldn’t think you weren’t perfect if you were like, you know, like if you didn’t—”

She laughs that sparkling laugh and walks out from behind the counter to lean an elbow on Barry’s table, “You talk a lot Mr. Blue Eyes.”

Barry shakes his head, “Are you ever going to ask me my real name?”

“Oh, is your name not Blue Eyes?” She takes a seat across from him, “I feel like it would be a crime to refer to you by anything other than those beauts.”

He offers her a sip of his coffee, that he has so barely touched, and she takes it, their hands doing that electric thing as they touch again.

“But also,” she adds after a sip, “Oh, wait damn am I good,” she smiles down at her cup, “But also, it is much more fun not knowing your name for your cup. If I knew it, I’d have to be boring and use your name, not get to flirt with you through my sloppy Sharpie writing.”

“I am definitely no expert at flirting, but, something tells me you can still do it if you know my name.”

“Expert at being late but not at flirting?” She leans back in her chair, a smirk in her eyes, “I don’t know, I feel like you keep lying to me Blue Eyes. Been on time to meet me here, have such a good flirting game that I’m willingly sitting at work with you when I could be home, make me so jittery I feel like I don’t need 12 ounces of caffeine in the morning.”

Someone needs to reteach him the English language. He’s lost all ability.

“All that without even knowing my name?”

“It is the strangest thing. Like, I barely know you, but something about seeing that stupid smile on your face walk in here, I don’t know, it feels like—”

“Home,” he finishes with a nod, because he knows the feeling.

“Yeah, exactly,” She takes another sip and sighs contentedly, “But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to know, like, everything about you. Like, what was your favorite subject in school, or what year you had your worst yearbook picture, or your favorite color, or like, if you had to only eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would you eat, I mean you already know mine is brownies, but like, are you a chocolate person, or would you rather eat a whole bag of potato chips, or—”

“Hold on, please tell me you like cookie dough ice cream, or I think we’re gonna have to end this right here.”

She shakes her head, and Barry feigns a stab wound to the heart. She laughs at his dramatics and continues, “I’m a mint chocolate chip person.”

“I’ll forgive it, _if,”_ he leans his elbows on the table, “we can at least agree that there is no worse flavor of potato chips than—”

“Salt and vinegar!” She yells with a laugh.

“My girl,” Barry says, tapping his chest right over his heart.

“Our relationship is saved,” she shoots him a crooked little smile and Barry feels her swing her legs. Something about the way she’s looking at him makes him want to swing his legs back.

“Well, those are all very important questions, and I,” he yawns without warning, “Oh, sorry.”

“S’okay, sleepyhead. I realized I drank all your coffee,” Iris taps the empty cup on the table.

“Hey, wait, I just realized,” Barry reaches over and spins the cup around in her hand, “you didn’t write ant notes on my cup today.”

“Well, I was actually hoping you might write something on it for me,” she slides the cup over and reaches into the pocket on her small apron, “Like maybe,” she places the sharpie in front of him, “Your number?”

Bless the laws of gravity that keep him from falling out of his chair right then and there.

“Oh okay, you smooth girl, smooth,” he chuckles and picks up the sharpie. She rests her chin in her hands and gazes at him as he writes, laughing at the way his tongue sticks out in concentration.

She takes the cup back from him and bounces excitedly in her seat. She looks down at where he wrote his number _and_ his name, then back up into Barry’s eyes.

“Well, thank you for keeping me company while I close, Barry Allen.”

And so here he sits, in his office, replaying the sweet sound of her voice over and over again as he watches the clock move slower, like it has to be moving in slow motion now, as he waits patiently to leave work and sprint to Jitters.

“I thought we had at least 2 more months until you worked through all the coffee shops in the city,” Cisco says, snapping Barry out of his daydream.

“I’ve just been busy, you know,” Barry pats the stack of files on his desk, “But, according to my palm, someone just ordered a latte, so as soon as I can get out of here…” but the only place he’d like a latte from right now is a coffee shop he’s be frequenting often as of late.

“Go, lover boy, your barista babe awaits.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, dude, you look like a lost puppy,” Cisco laughs, “Just remember who your best friend in the multiverse is when it comes time to pick a best man at your highly caffeinated wedding.”

Barry smiles and runs out the door.

He sends Iris a text: _just got out of work and I think Jitters is calling my name_

She answers within seconds: _today suddenly feels a whole lot better_

(And she adds: _don’t think I forgot about you bringing me that embarrassing high school picture…)_

///

“You look amazing.”

“Yeah, thanks, I was going for a wet dog look,” Barry crosses his arms as he stands by a table that Iris is cleaning off on a Tuesday morning.

“Do you not own an umbrella?” She tilts her head towards the torrential downpour outside.

“I let my friend borrow it once, and I haven’t seen it again.”

“Ah,” she nods, picking up the mug on the table, “The best kind of friends, right?”

“He definitely owes me.”

“I think it’s kinda cute,” she uses her free hand to brush up a lock of hair that hangs in front of his face, “You have the striking ability to always look like you’re ready for a photoshoot.”

“Maybe I should quit CSI and become a full-time model.”

“I would not object,” Barry shakes his head as she looks at him with a little laugh, “definitely not object.” She grabs another mug and starts to head towards the counter, “Well, you should get in line before you get stuck in the rush.”

“I actually should go, get to work,” he says.

“You came all the way here and aren’t gonna get anything?”

“Well, it’s on my way to work and I really just wanted to say hi,” he shrugs, “besides, without my favorite Jitters employee behind the counter, what would even be the point?”

She smiles at him and he swears that smile could replace the morning sun.

“I am actually about to go start taking orders.”

“Well then I will leave you to your morning rush.”

“Have a good day at work, Blue Eyes.”

“We’re still not calling me Barry?” He calls as he backs towards the door.

She just shrugs, “Come back tonight and I’ll update you.”

“It’s a date.”

He feels like floating on clouds as he walks out, pouring rain be damned, and barely notices the coffee orders that his soulmate is scribbling down as he heads to work.

When he sits down at his desk, getting _that look_ from Cisco as he spins in his chair with a stupid grin, he almost misses the last little note that appears on his wrist.

_Morning rush, sorry!_

_No problem_ he scribbles back fast, then adds _best of luck with all those crazy coffee people_

He smiles to himself and starts to log into his computer when he notices her answer:

_Thanks :)_

He stares at it for a while. That smiley face. He’s seen in before. I mean, it’s just two little dots for eyes and curve for the mouth, but everyone draws a smiley face a little different. And something about this one feels so…

He grabs the empty cup on his desk from yesterday morning and spins it so that the writing on the side is facing him: _I swear if you don’t wipe that stupid cute grin off your face right now I’m gonna have to lean over the counter right now and kiss it :)_ (and let’s not even discuss the backflip his stomach did when he read that).

He holds his wrist up to the cup and looks at the smiley faces.

No fucking way.

“Hey guys,” Barry calls, his heartbeat running at an unnaturally rapid pace, “I need your expert scientific opinion on something really quickly.”

* * *

Barry feels like for as close as Jitters is to CCPD, it feels like it takes a total of seven full years for him to get there right now.

He doesn’t know how he missed it this whole time, I mean, he’d been to so many coffee shops, tried out every flavor of hot coffee, iced, with sugar and creamer, and black, with eco-friendly lids and pink packets of sugar. He looked at everyone who took his order, saw some jot things down on pads, or typed on a screen, and he always watched the hands of the girl handing him his drink, just to see if maybe, just maybe, it matched the orders scribbled on his own palm. For as many times as he’d been to Jitters in his life, he thought he had ruled it out. He should have been looking for this girl in the summer, where she couldn’t hide behind long sleeves.

She had never taken his order. Never. He never saw her write down his order on her hand because she’d just insist to make something herself, or he’d be sitting at a table on the phone when she busily took orders on her hand for other customers and he never thought to connect the words that appeared on his hand when he hung up with something maybe she had written.

And the handwriting? Stupid, I mean, he’s a forensic scientist, for god’s sake. Her handwriting was definitely messier when it appeared on his hand than when she wrote him love notes on his coffee cups, but still. How did he not see it?

And by the sheer feeling alone. The way she made him feel just being in the same room as her. How did he not realize he’d been staring at his soulmate with his own two eyes for weeks now.

He walks so fast to Jitters that night, not being able to leave the lab immediately after his revelation if he wanted to keep his job. The streets are dark now, and he knows Jitters will be fairly empty when he gets there, but she was waiting for him, right? Right? What if he was wrong? Dammit, he couldn’t be wrong, right?

He feels his heartbeat flutter as he reaches for the Jitters door handle. She waves as he walks over to a table, the place nearly empty, the soft lull of music reminding him of the first time they met. She’s the only employee here right now, and she works behind the counter quickly with a little bounce in her step. He wonders if she can see the sheer panic on his face. He lets out a deep breath.

He grabs a sharpie HR lent him from his pocket and starts to write on his left wrist.

_Hey there_

_Hey you_

He can’t get himself to look up from his arm, his eyes trained solely on the black letters that appear on his arm. He figures he should check to see if Iris is writing, but his stomach is in knots. He continues:

_Good day?_

_Long. You?_

_Extremely long, and I have been waiting to tell you something all day._

_Oooo exciting, spill!!!_

_So I found something today_

_Elaborate…_

_I found something really special, something I’ve been looking for, for a long time_

_Alright dude I’m running out of space here and you don’t wanna see my left-handed writing on my right arm what did you find?!_

_You_

Barry looks up for the first time. Iris is leaning over the counter, sharpie in hand, her eyebrows furrowed as she looks at her arm.

_Something tells me you’re gonna like the color of my eyes_ Barry adds, and within seconds, Iris’s head shoots up and they immediately lock eyes.

“NO!” She squeals, her mouth in the widest grin Barry has ever seen, and she slams her hands on the counter, “No. Way.”

“Nice to meet you, soulmate,” Barry waves, his left sleeve rolled up and arm covered in sharpie, “My names Barry Allen, but you can call me Blue Eyes.”

“Oh my god,” She squeals again, jumping up and down behind the counter, pointing between him and her Sharpie covered arm, “I can’t—oh my god, I’m coming, I’m jumping over the counter, should I—you know what, I’m not gonna jump over the counter, you just stay right there—oh my god!”

She throws down her Sharpie and giggles as she runs around the side of the counter, Barry stands up from his seat and starts to walk towards her, but she’s fast, and charges right at him, throwing her arms around his neck before he can even take more than two steps. He feels her feet lift off the floor as he squeezes her back and without even thinking spins them around, her laugh in his ear making him feel like all the wind air has been sucked out of him.

When he sets her down, she takes her hands and immediately grabs his face in her hands, “I knew you were perfect, but man, this is like, unmatched levels of perfect, Barry Allen.”

“I cannot believe I didn’t figure it out sooner.”

“I should have known when you hit me with the cookie dough thing, I mean, how many grown men actually—”

“It’s the greatest ice cream flavor, I don’t make the rules!” He yells, his hands settling on her back, his cheeks bright red and his smile growing by the second.

“Barry Allen, I am about to ask you something,” she says, “and I need you to know it has nothing to do with the fact that I just found out you’re my soulmate, and entirely to do with the fact that I’ve been working up the courage to ask this since I first noticed that your smile actually twinkles like a cartoon character.”

“Ask away, my girl.”

“Can I kiss that stupid silly grin—ooh!” And she didn’t need to ask Barry twice before his lips were on hers.

She tasted like coffee. He didn’t really mind.

After Barry is convinced his whole body has surely turned into Jell-O now, she leans her forehead against his, standing on her tippy toes, eyes shut.

“Hey, Iris?”

“Yeah,” she sighs.

“Would now be a good time to mention I’m more of a tea person?”

* * *


End file.
